PS 

-2,159 



It is a melancholy of mine own, cempounded of naany simples, extracted 
)m many objects ; and indeed ;; ■ -undr- ronttiijplation of my travels, in 
bich my often rununatioB wraps me, is a most humorous sadness ! — 

Shakspeare. 



PVBL1SHED BY CUMMINGS & HILLURV, 

BOSTON BOOKSTORE, 
JVo. I Cornhill. 



S. BELLAMY, PRINTER. 
1821. 



DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, to wit : 

District Cleric's Office. 
iiE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twenty ninth day of March, in 
Forty Fifth year of the Independence of the United States of Aiheri 
EnsHA Bellamy of the suid District, has deposited in this Office the 'I 
of a Book, the Riglit whereof he claims as Proprietor, in the Words fol 
ing;, to IV it : 

" Sukey. ' // is a melancholy of mine own, compoundid of n 

simples, extracltdfrom many objects ; and indeed the sundry conlcm^plc 
of my travels, in whicft, my oftt.n rumination uraps me, is a most hvmc 
sad7iess ." — Shaksptare 

In Confornjity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, ent 
"An act tor the en(^oura!i:en)cnt of learnini;, by securine; the copie 
maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, di 
the tii;ies therein mentioned :" and also to an act entitled, " An act su 
mentary to an act, tiititled, an act for the encouragement of learning 
securing the ( o()ies of maps, (harts and books, to the authors and pre 
lor? of .-uch c(>j)ies tluring th.: time? therein mentioned ; and extending 
benefit' ihireof to the arts of designing, engraving and etching historical 
other prints." 

J NO. V\. DAVIS. 
Clerk of the District of Massachu 






^,*->^^ 



PREFACE. 



The nature and design of this Poem, may not at lirst be com- 
pletely and thoroughly understood. It demands a patient and 
frequent perusal. It aims at something higher and better than 
mere amusement. I have wished to do something in an uncom- 
mon way, it is to be confessed for morality, poetry, and manners ; 
and I cannot but believe if that which I have written be rightlj'^ 
apprehended my attempt will not be wholly frustrated. Some- 
time ago I formed the design of writing three poems on subjects 
intimately connected with peculiar branches in the philosophy of 
the human mind. This is the first fruits, of a less ambitious char- 
acter to be sure, than the other two, Vefmar or Destiny, a Dra- 
matic Romance, and the Dream of the Sepulchre, which I shall 
publi "i in the course of this summer, or farthest, in the autumn of 
the year. This poem, however, is simply intended to illustrate 
some of the curious facts, set forth in the newly received opinions 
concerning the Doctrine of Association of Ideas. I have been in- 
duced to do this by certain convictions forced upon my own mind 
after reading the following reflections from Foster's essay on A 
Mans writing Memoirs of Himself. 

Men realize their existence in the surrounding objects that act 
upon them and form the interests of self, rather than in that very 
self, that interior being, which is thus acted upon. So that this 



IV PREFACK. 

bein^ itself, with its thoughts and feelings, as distinct from the ob- 
jects of those thoughts and feelings, but rarely occupies its own 
deep and patient attention. Men carry their minds, as they car- 
ry their watches, content to be ignorant of the mechanism of their 
movements, and satisfied with attending to the little exterior cir- 
cle of things, to which the passions, like indexes, are pointing. It 
is surprising to see how little self-knowledge a person not watch- 
fully observant of himself may have gained in the whole course of 
an active, or even an inquisitive life. 

In some occasional states of the mind, we can look back much 
more clearly, and to a much greater distance, than at other 
times. I would advise to seize those short intervals of illumina- 
tion which sometimes occur without onr knowing the cause, and 
in which the genuine aspect of some remote event, or long for- 
gotten image, is recovered with extreme distinctness by vivid 
spontaneous glimpses of thought such as no effort could have 
commanded ; as the sombre features and minute objects of a dis- 
tant ridge of hills become strikingly visible in the strong gleame 
of light which transiently fall on them. 

Places and things which have an association with any of the 
events or feelings of past life, will greatly assist the recollection 
of them. If an old man wished to animate for a moment the 
languid and faded ideas which he retains of his youth, he might 
walk with his crutch across the green where he once played with 
companions who are now probably laid to repose in another spot 
not far off. An aged saint may meet again some of the affecting 
ideas of his early piety in the place where he first thought it hap- 
py to pray. A walk in a meadow, the sight of a bank of flowers, 
perhaps even of some one flower, a landscape with the tints of au- 
tumn, the descent into a valley, the brow of a mountain, the house 
where a friend has been met, or has resided, or has died, have often 



]»roduced a much more lively recollection of oar past feelings, and 
of the objects and events vrhich caused them, than the most per- 
fect description could have done ; and we have lingered a consid- 
erable time for the pensive luxury of thus resuming, if I may so 
express it, the departed state of our minds. 

But there are many to whom local associations present images 
which they fervently wish they could forget ; images which haunt 
the places where crimes have been perpetrated, and which seem 
to approach and glare on the criminal as he hastily passes by, es- 
pecially if in the evening or the night. JVo local associations are 
so impressive as those of guilt. It may here be ohgerved, that as each 
9ne has his own seperate remembrances^ giving to some places an as- 
pect and a significance "which he alone can perceive^ there must be an 
unknown number of pleasing^ or mournful^ or dreadful associations^ 
spread over the scenes inhabited or visited by men. We pass without 
any awakened consciousness by the bridge, or the wood, or the 
house, where there is something to excite the most painful or fright- 
ful ideas in the next man that shall come that way, or possibly the 
•ompanion that walks along with us. How much there is in a 
thousand spots of the earth, that is invisible and silent to all but 
the conscious individual. 

I hear a voice you cannot hear ; 
I see a hand you cannot see. 

Most persons, I presume, can recollect some {ew sentences or 
conversations which made so deep an impression, perhaps in some 
instances they can scarcely tell why, that they have been thous- 
ands of times recalled, while all the rest have been forgotten ; or 
they can advert to some striking incident, coming in aid of instruc- 
tion, or being of itself a forcible instruction, which they seem ev- 
en now to see as clearly as when it happened, and of which they 



VI PREFACE. 

will retain a perfect idea to the end of life. In some instances, to 
recollect the instructions of a former period will be to recol- 
lect too the excellence, the affection, and the death, of the per- 
sons who gave them. Amidst the sadness of such a remembrance, 
it will be a consolation that th'^y are not entirely lost to us. Wise 
monitions, when they return on us with this melancholy charm, 
have more pathetic cogency than when they were first uttered by 
ihe voice of a living friend who is now silent. It will be an inter- 
esting occupation of the pensive hour, to recount the advantages 
which we have received fv^m beings who have left the world, and 
to r iinforce our virtues from the dust of those whp first taught 
•them. 



1II^I1'1"< 



SUKEY. 



X AM one of those melancholy men, 

Who sometimes like to strike a harp of sadness, 

And joy to hear its chime, though it may pain, 

Like love sick maiden's songs which breathe of madness ; 

And why ? — I shall not give myself the time, 

To tell, but straight this wayward tale in rhyme, 

11. 

Unfold, as you may wish ; — but you must know, 

This rhyming spirit business of the brain, 

Is not so easy work ; the brightning glow 

Of Fancy's fires — is sometimes sought in vain, 

And then, we Poets feel, dull, sick and lone, 

As if— a funeral bell toU'd for some kind friend gone 1 



4 



III. 

This SuKEY — that I mean to speak about, 
Was quite a pretty lass, with eyes of blue. 
And form symmetrical. — She loved a rout. 
But more than all, those parties where a few 
Gay girls — may dance with tamborine and fiddle. 
And shew off all their beauty in the riddle. 



IV. 



Of a long contra-dance — while cotillion 
And reel are given up — because the fashion 
At least, in towns — where leader's of the ton. 
Delight to shew their spirit — and to dash on-^ 
Is, to reject, jig — waltz — hornpipe — minuet, 
Reckless of all the laws of city etiquette, 

V. 

And hold, the contra-dance, the only dance is. 
Where one may sport the graceful attitude, 
And bound of happy feeling, such as Francis, (I) 
That Prince of gallantry — I now allude 
To Him of Gaul — the Monarch who once said, 
Surely I've not forgot — No ! in my head, 



VI. 



I have it now — aye ! — that his court-room rin^ 
When ladies were not there — fair Venus' powers ! 
Was Uke the year without the gentle Spring, 
Or rather like the Spring without its flowers ! — 
It is a pretty thought ! — but 1 was saying, 
This dance — that Monarch thought far overswuying 



VII. 



All others of his times — and so I think, 

Maugre all threats from those who think they know, 

That which is only right ; I never shrink 

From giving my opinion ; — let this go ! — 

SuKEY was fond of dancing — so am I, 

Though now my dancing days have long past by I 

VIII. 

This pastime had its rise — when Arthur wore (2) 

The crown of Britain and her red cross shield. — 

The Fairy race — belated shepherds saw 

Holding their revels near some grassy field — 

Or forest glade — where summer flowers were springing, 

And chrystal streams to the sweet solitude singing ! 



IX. 

Such is at least, the tale, romancers tell. 

The peasants told it to their guests — and they 

In towns and cities taught each beau and belle ; — 

But why go on ? — I only wish to say — 

All this I learnt — (how complaisant and yielding) 

From a fine poem inscribed to Lady Fanny Fielding. (3) 

X. 

I wish I could pourtray on this white paper — 
A shape — that might appear a living semblance 
Of Sukey's person — when without her wrapper, 
She shone a iorni etherial !- — remembrance 
May bring back many such to those who love, 
And dream they see their angel figures move, 



XI, 



When the high-canopying arch of heaven at night, 
Is sprinkled o'er with stare ; and clouds of snow 
Are sweeping in their stillness — and the light 
Of the round Moon comes softly down ; — the flow 
Of wreathed brightness — gloriously spanning 
The spiritual walk — and west winds fanning ; 



xir. 

And Musick — all unearthly comes ! dying 

From its full swelling in the shadowy air, 

Along the still lakes bosom — slowly tlying 

Upon the echo's pinions — mingles where 

The dingle copse wood grows — and low fount caves, 

Oi', in the solemn glen where peers the place of graves ! 

XIII. 

The holiest of holy hours ! on high 

The spirit pure, from fragile clay may swell ! — 

It mingles with Loves light ! — The Deity 

Is there — calm — glorious — bright — ineffable !■ — 

And this is Heaven ! — till overwrought it falls, 

And sinks again to earth — which still enthralls ! 

XIV. 

Yet still it gazes on bright visions there—- 
And makes of one, a form too brightly seen ; 
Fashioning to itself a shape of air, 
As sweet as that, which shall be, and has been., — 
And dreams of beauty which shall ever last, 
When all the imagings of Time are past ! 



XV. 



And so it keeps through hfe to death, unbroken, 
This passion — while each fond memory leaves 
Of the once loved — a hallowed, mournful token, — 
A something, that we know not, that deceives 
With unsubstantial mockeries, and with sadness, 
The credulous heart, grown wise in its own madness ! 

XVI. 

Hek hair was of the chestnut hue ; but many 
Pretend not to like this colour, the reason why 
I never askM ; it may be — few — if finy. 
Who thus protest, can boast such hair, and shy 
Of losing the good opinion of Ihoir lovers, 
Aflirm such hair as this, no cranium covers ! 

XVH. 

Dispute it, if you will — 1 shall not soon ; 
But if the newspapers speak truth — a dye 
Of such a hue, is found at the Saloon, 
In Market Street — by Dickson sold ; and I 
Have known him long, as one who is no Jew, 
But I am telling now — what every body knew. 



XVIII. 

No matter ; her hair was chestnut — and its flow 
Sunk down in silken softness — like the wings 
Of the night birds in Paradise ! — Neck of snow — 
And forehead meek, as that chaste seraph brings, 
Oa which is prest the kiss of heavenly love, 
When done her deeds of earth — in welcoming above ! 

XIX. 

I speak not of her eye — thatseem'd to pour 

The mellow light of sunset in its glance, 

Or when the soul was touched, would brightly shower 

The arrowy lightnings of the tempest ; the dance 

Of spectre forms, from iris circle leaping 

Waving their diamond wands ; — or in its weeping, 

XX. 

When the upgushing waters of the heart. 
Were there — and its full orb was sunk, not spent 
Its light — the long lash'd lid with quivering start 
Open'd and shut — as when the heavens are rent, 
And the visible fires burst forth in glory, 
And pass away in jloom ! — Now to my story. 



10 



XXI. 



But stay ! I must speak of her foot and ankle ; 

Think of a model such as great Canova, (4) 

Would carve as beautiful, to walk or prankle 

Over the fields, when hearts are light, or a 

Green sloping bank, where moonhght sleeping 

Sheds brightness, calm and still, while Zephyrs creeping, 

XXII. 

Unveil the tender flowers and drink the dews ! — 

There are but few, that 1 know, who could make, 

So as to fit right well — a pair of shoes 

For Sukey's feet — nor Chadwick — Morton, Lake, 

Nor any other of their cast, she wrought 

The slippers that she wore — they were not bought I 

XXIII. 

Speaking of slippers — those which now are worn, 

(Prunella) — are easier to wearers far. 

Than leather, cheap, — and if, perchance, are torn 

By any carelessness — a little care 

Will make them whole again — I shrewdly ween, 

So that, indeed, the rent will scarce be seen. 



11 



XXIV. 

She was a village girl — an orphan child I — 

Her parents died when she an infant yet, 

Knew not her smiles a father's heart beguiled 

Of ail bis cares, and made him oft forget ! 

Nor how a mother's anguish was o'erpaid — • 

While for a little time, in this dark world, she stayed ! 

XXV. 

A little time ! and in the church-yard ground ; — 
You may have seen the spot, if e'er you rode, 

Through X Y — where a greensward mound 

In spring is seen — they make their last abode ! — 
The turf is gay with braided flowers — but now — 
You scarce can tind the place — so deep the snow. 

XXVI. 

Last summer I was there, and recollect, 
Walking at even tide through that lone spot j 
The loneliness was lovely, and the effect, 
I Was, as it is ! oh ! ne'er can be forgot ! 
I feel it now ; the sunset o'er the mountains, 
The black birds, dirge Uke soug, and welling fountains ; 



IS 



XXVIl, 

With waters rustling down the darksome gleu ! 
The ploughmans thoughtless whistle — and tho bell 
Swelling its doep ton'd reckoning ! — solemn then, 
I threw my-self upon a tomb — and weii, 
Remember all the busy thoughts which rose, 
Dark on my mind, rousing its vain repose ! 

XXVIII. 

There is a mystery, that fills with awe 
Around Good's temple standing lonely there ! — 
Looking from its green depth- of sycamore, 
And aged elms — making communion fair, — 
While far above ascends the moss clad spire. 
With a most holy light of heaven kissing fire 

XXIX. 

Hanging around it— pointing silently 

To the unknown of rest, above. — It seems, 

To tell the soul in whispering majesty. 

That there is hope, when all its earth born dreams, 

Have vanished into nothing, with old time ; — 

With the Immaculate Presence and oublime ! 



13 



XXX. 

Then — oh my soul — how gushing o'er thee, came, 
The visions of thine infancy — now gone ! 
Forever gone ! — yet still thou wt^rt the same !— 
Shadows of Friends — that all forget to mourn, 
SeemM gliding o'er the place, in the still air, 
Beck'ning with looks of love — to read a moral there ! 

XXXI. 

There sleep the ancient and the sage together ! 
The enemy and lover — low and high ! 
Distinction hath no place ! — Spring's sunny weather, 
The breeze — the storm — o'er quench'd mortality — 
Pass each alike — with a strange, ominous doom — 
Heedless aUke of tangled sod, or vanity's proud tomb ! 

XXXII. 

But let this pass ! a kind old lady took 
Young SuKEY home with her, (a maiden aunt) 
Well versed in all the arts which m al;e i cook ; 
And this is all some modern husbands want. 
But she had more to boast ; had often read 
The authors of old days — her mind had fed, 



14 



XXXIII. 

Upon the banquetings of gofls ; De Foe 

Bunyan and Smoilet — Ricliardscn — and others — 

But best of all her Bible prized, and so 

You see, with Parsons, -pinsters — Guardians, Mothers, 

Altho' she boasted not of wealth and birth. 

She passed for something of exceeding worth, 

XXXIV. 

When six summers — more or less, went by — 
And SuKEY was thought old enough to go. 
To school, aud learn her book — her destiny 
It was, in a short time, as you must know 
High praise to win from the village school dame, 
A good old soul — no matter for her name. 

XXXV. 

She never whipped her pupils — for she thought 

With Shenstone's matron — that the green birch rod, (5) 

Upon the incorrigible ne'er wrought 

A perfect work — and with the gentler would 

Make matters worse — quick freezing up the feelings, 

To finer issues touched by such hard deaUngs. 



±5 



XXXVI. 

1 have, indeed, heard Sukey say that, some 

Strange punishments were common with the matron ; 

Namely, the pulling of the hair, a gentle doom ! 

And soon forgot, yet many a mother's son. 

Knew that her pins were sharp, and hard her thimble 

Struck on the dull brained skull, and oft how nimble, 

XXXVII. 

She'd sweep across the room — to shake some urchin 

Guilty of some high wickedness, such as, 

TeUing a falshood, picking pockets, lurching, 

And other pranks of nature like — such as, 

When life was young, right often we have seen, 

Those days, alas ! are gone — would they had never been. 

XXXVIII. 

And Sukey was a favorite — not only 

With her mistress, but the scholars. She cHmb'«i 

The ladder of learning, and soon won the 

Top — such is the pride of genius ! — she rhym'd 

With power poetic — could recite Jack Horner 

That selfish boy — who ate his pie within the corner, 



16 



XXXIX. 

Of his own father's fire place ! and Mother Goose, 
Who wrote so many wondrous tales in verse ! 
The Jack and Jill! ah ! wretched friends, to lose. 
And to be lost, was the all fearful curse, 
Entailed upon them in their hour of ill, 
When both together fell down the precipitous hill ! 



XL. 



The Man of Thessaly I — that mighty sage 

Who dared a dubious conflict, qu(;nched his sight, 

And struggled for new vision ! — a dark page ! 

Those of the Boxi.^1 at Sea ! One of the J^'ight, 

Riding o'er moonless skies ! She of the Shoe, 

Cursed with her progeny ! and //e, the Sleeper^ Blue ! (6) 

XLI. 

At home, she grew in fondness and in love. 
With that dear friend, the relative 1 named, — 
Who watched her with a tenderness above 
All powers of language ; I should be ashamed 
To tell of all she did, but 1 mu-^t say 
To all she knew herself, she taught the way 



17 



XLII. 

In culinary lore, it was her pride, 
To make her neice, clever and shrewd and wise ; 
In all that's roasted, toasted, boiled, baked, fried ; 
Puddings, tarts, custards, syllabubs and pies ! 
Oh ! I can see her now.^ her white arm out 
Rolling the crust, turning it round about 

XLIII. 

With taper fingers, her white apron on, 
Pure and unspotted as the drifted snow, 

4 

And smiling lips — while ever and anon 
Some lively song she sings ! the jocund flow 
Of dancing spirits — bright with merriment, 
Such as all feel, when life is innocent. 

XLIV. 

Time was — when maidens fair— for pleasures sake, 

So say, the Scriptures, read them, could prepare. 

The fatted calf and bake an oatmeal cake. 

And of their household take peculiar care, 

Or milk the goat", and in the pastures range 

To feed the snow white flocks — but times have known a change 



18 



XLV. 

There are but few, among the pretty creatures, 
Kind chance has given to my scrotiny, 
Who think it not a spoiling of their features 
To toil before a fire, — sad destiny — 
Patience beyond — if they must keep an eye, 
On things belonging to such drudgery ! 

XLVI. 

******** 
******** 
******** 

XLVII. 

Our daughters now, are taught French, German, Spanish, 
All to'igues, except their own ; Italian, Greek, 
Choctaw and Chickasee, Hebrew, Scotch, Danish, 
Dutch, which all allow they speak, 
Witli a just accent, neither low nor high, 
And singular elegance and propriety. — 

XLVIII. 

These things, our Mother's knew not, in their days. 
The vantage ground is ours. Our foreign masters, 



19 



They who have shone in courts, or played at plays, 
Can teach us better now ; some few disasters 
May now and then occur — yet soon forgot, 
We triumph still in our more fortunate lot ! 

XLIX. 

Besides, there's something so delightful — sweet — 

To have one so familiar, and so kind I — 

Girls, always have some hero at their feet ; 

And wonder how the world can be so blind ! 

Not to perceive in that fine form — bright eye, 

The unfortunate and brave ! like Thaddeus Sobieski ! 



******** 
******** 

LI. 

I speak it to their shame — free be it spoken, 
And freely heard ! — now, had I a sister, 
My language should be such ! — the charm is broken 
And for my wife — though I might not resist her, 
If she said, nay ! — yet should 1 love her more, 
Would she do this, and wilhngiy, before 
3 



20 



Lll. 



I told my wishes ! no ! a lonely being 

And bachelor of course, strange, whimsical, 

All which I am — cannot at times help seeing 

Some things I cannot like — all which I shall 

Take soon an opportunity to tell, 

When the right hour, and humor bears me well ! 

Llll. 

And years did pass away ! this lovely girl, 

Our .SuKEY, gathered to the grace 1 sung 

Some little while ago ! — How quickly whirl, 

The wheels of Time — noiseless as rose leaves iiung' 

Upon the moonlight lake ! oh ! never more 

Will they return — no matter what they bore ! 

LIV. 

The past is vanished ! whether good or ill ; — 
There is no present — shall the future come ? 
Alas ! why speak of that, it comes to kill. 
So much we know of earth, — the fearful doom, 
Of things which live, quick hurrying to the tomb, 
All that we love in happmess or gioom ! 



SI 



LV. 



Yet there are. recollections to some hearts, 

Which prompt the mind, some wishes yet to coin !— 

The chain forever winding never parts; 

Or if it parts, the viewless links rejoin 

Binding- the spirit, till the destined hour 

At last comes forth, and death's resistless power, 

LVI. 

Gives it to lisrht and life ! — hnt, who can tell 
How it shall be with soul hereafter ? where 
Unclothed with tlesh it goes? — the mystic spell 
Dissolved, that charmed k to existence here ? 
And grave worms feed upon that body now, 
That once was rife with its etherial glow ! — 

LVII. 

What is our birth, but sleep ? our death — a life ? 
The soul that springs froiu God — has been before I- 
Decay, it knows not, in our being's strife ; — 
Its giorv is not quench'd ! — and when no more, 
The shadows of our prison house enclose — 
It passethj like a star, from whence it rose ! 

I 



LVIII. 

What are its visions in this world of things ? — 

Strife — Love — Ambition — Fame — each change e'er long, 

And then depart, like false imaginings; — 

From youth to age — the fancies of a song; — 

The visionary gleamings of a sky, 

Which brighten terribly upon a maniac's eye ! 

LIX. 

It knows not, but believes, that it will last, 
When that, shall all dissolve, it now inherits, 
Like the small dust upon the whirlwind's blast;— 
And be itself, immortal, hke the spirits 
Of higher instincts — and forever be, 
Glorious in its own bright Eternity ! — 



LX. 



These may be questions, rather metaphysical ; 
They teach us, how to think, and for those, who, 
Like to review such, well ; — the phthisical, 
Who wear the hectic cheek, and soon must go 
Down to the worms dwelling — I would calmly say, 
It is decreed ! — be cheerful while you may ; 



S3 



LXI. 



Beware such pondering — 'tis preposterous folly 

Thus wasting' all the spirits one may have ; 

The soul is sickened by dark melancholy ;— 

All hopes and fears, are bounded by the grave ! 

And when the last, last lingering hour, is come, 

Look calmly in Death''s face — nor shudder at the doom ! 

LXII. 

But to return ! — what is a poem or novel, 
Without two lovers with their joys and sorrows ? — 
It is impossible to make one go well, 
Either for fame or money — though one borrows 
All power of language ; — without Lovers, Love — • 
You may depend your book will nothing move ! 

Lxin. 

And this is not exceedingly absurd, 

Though many prate and swear that it must be j 

Since Love has fled the earth — like a bright bird 

To holier climes — but this to you and me, 

Is idle all ; I do believe as yet, 

It warmeth still young hearts who never can forget ! — 



§4 



LXIV. 

It has its bowers of rest — rich springing flowers ; 

The sunshine of a sky, sweetly diffusing, 

Its beaiis o*" unquenched light — innocent hours — 

Bright tears — chaste smiles — and joys of heavenly musing ! 

It cannot die ! — it shall not pass away 

But with the soul of this imprisoning clay ! — 

LXV. 

Oh ! 'tis a holy, changeless, nameless thing ! 
A sanctioned Power — pure habitant of Heaven ! 
Blessing seraphic — which alone can bring 
From its eternal Home — wlience all is given, 
A vision like itself — that still must be 
The invisible emblem of the Deity ! 

LXVI. 

Therefore, I'll have a Lover in this book, 
An I he shall love my Sukev. — and she him ! 
Ho shall be — wtiat ? — I know not ; if you iook 
Ovev a few more iiiiss —this vccy iThim 
Of nine, may give some inf)rnati )n 
Concerning him, his caaracLer, vocation ! 



25 



LXVII. 

And I'll begin e'en now ! once lived a youth 
Of a romantic turn, who knew his kind, 
But as they seemM to be, all love an 1 truth ! — 
And he was brave and generous ; of a mind, 
That iook'd abov? the world with ki iJliageye, 
Holding communion with the starry sky ! — 

LXVIII. 

Much had he read and thought ! — and often loved 
To ba alone, when he might sum non forth, 
The spirits of the past ! — and wben he roved. 
Like a wild hunter of the stormy north, 
The deepning valley, and the mountain high, 
Were still his favorite haunt:? ! He loved the cry, 

LXIX. 

Of eagles in their solitudes ; — the roar 
Of catraracts ! — the darkness of that hour. 
When spectres are abroad ! — the lonely shore, 
When tempests revelled in their mightiest power ! 
Thandsrings and liglitning? — ^loiiou-! in their might !- 
Filling his breast with terrible delight ! — 



36 



LXX. 

Oh ! many a time and oft, in their young days, 
Seated by sunny hill or valley green. 
He would discourse, and her bright beauty praise, 
And crown her with a wreath, and call her queen, 
His Q,ueen of May, or sportively would shower 
Roses and violets round, as her most princely dower ! 

LXXI. 

Or scenes, she loved the best, he wished to show ; — 

To guide her safely o'er the passage bridge. 

That cross'd the lierce, dark torrent, deep below. 

And gaze upon the broad sun o'er the ridge 

Of the far hills ; — or Ust the woods along 

The shrill lon'd redbreast, pipe his farewel song ! 

LXXll. 

Poetry was his idol and his passion ! 
His soul's sun ! — that glorified ami brighten'd ! — 
And many a song of love, he oft could fashion 
To win her love, and thus merrily lighten'd 
His heart at times. — It will not take me long 
To copy in this place, his favorite song. — 



S7 



1. 

And they may sny, thy long- dark hair, 
Clustering its shadow'y flow, 
Is like the raven's plumage there, 
Veiling that moonlight brow ! — 
The roseate flush, that dyes thy cheek, 
AH firight with beauty's glow- 
Is like the radiant crimson streak, 
Of sunset o'er the snow ! 

There i" a charm more bright for me, 
Thy soul of sensibility ! — 

2. 

And they may say, thy soft blue eye, 
When raised its living sljroud. 
Outshines the diamond gem on high, 
That lights yon azure cloud ! — 
Thy lips as plants of coral red. 
In bloom, where pearl drops shine ! — 
Thy breath, like heavenly incense shed 
From virtue's holiest shrine ! — 

There is a charm, more rich for me, 
Thy heart's long proved sincerity ! 

3. 

And they may say, thy light step, where 

They wake the graceful dance. 

Is like, a seraph's motion there, 

Or wild bird's, swift winged glance ! — 

And lingering yel, thy form of love, 

Is like, a dream of heaven ! — 

Thy voice, like music breath'd above, 

Among the clouds of even! — 

There is a charm more dear to me, 
Thy spirits spotless purity ! — 

4 



S8 



LXXIII. 

He never talk'd of bridal hours ns yet, 

Because, he deem'd dependency the devil, 

And thought it wrong, that one must run in debt — 

And poverty in rags, a serious evil. — 

There is no doubt, much truth, in what he said ; 

Particularly concerning love, and daily bread. — 

LXXIV. 

But it is quite impossible, that man. 

Like that most curious creature the chameleon, 

Should feed on air, or that he ever can ; 

E'en though he basks within a king's pavillion, 

And, therefore, he must starve, or else must eat, 

And money, is the best thing to purchase meat. — 

LXXV. 

Upon the whole, our Hero's tix'd opinion, 
That creditors are troublesome sometimes ; — 
Seems generally correct ! — gay Fortune's niiaiou 
Disporting in the wealth of eastern climes. 
He, that a rumpled rose leaf would awake 
From his soft sleep — as quickly as a snake 



S9 



LXXVI. 

Coilins^ around his delicate white neck, 

M;ij scarce believe such things are ever so ; — 

But those vvho owe, either by bond or check, 

Feel oftentimes an agony of woe, — 

Man j^re their hollow smiles — if on the day 

Of settiement, they can't their creditors pay. 

LXXVII. 

Oil ! dim wild world, we know thee not as yet, 
SuiTarance is oars ! — the iot of human kind ; 
Nothing endureth ! — to live and to forget; 
To walk this earth in faith ; — though dark and blind. 
And keep the heart up in this pilgrimage. 
I And .nnake our fervent youth like virtuous age ; — 

LXXVIII. 

To seem and be ; — yet reverently concealing 
Deep in the bosom cell its passionate dreams, 
And as each glory, dazzlingly revealing 
i Its holiest charms, like spiritual beams 

From crowns of light, so soon to pass away — 
Is all we know of Life's sad darkness, or its day ! 



30 



LXXIX. 

And we "ill now suppose, that we may make, 

To cut, this part of our long story short — 

I do it simply, for my reader's sake, 

And not my own, f h no I — God knows there's naught, 

In this hirge breathing world, I Uke so well, 

As stringing rhymes, in this, my lonely cell — 

LXXX. 

And, if I pleased, I might go on forever. 

No matter, — we're only now sujjposing 

A parting of the Lovers ! —thus to sever 

Them so soon, is hard; — I hate this prosing, 

I wish my lines to sweetly flow — you see, 

Like sun bright waves of blue — upon a summer sea !— 

LXXXL 

******** 



31 



LXXXII. 

Well, thus it is resolv'd ! — Suicey, her aunt's permission, 
For this, she thought her duty, dared to ask 
To make a visit to some friends, — ambition ! — 
Might prompt some other giiis, this humbling task, 
Without reluctance to omit 



LXXXIII. 

I will not now protract, this pleasant story, 

In speaking of the preparation, that She made, 

How many bonnets, gowns, and all the glory, 

Of three, huge, closed pack'd trunks; — enough is said, 

When I affirm, that few within my knowledge, 

Have been so well equip'd from fashion's college. 

LXXXIV. 

It was a Winter's morning ! — clear and bright, 
The broad blue tirmament bowed down — and clouds 
In their deep fullness heaving, swept in light 
Along the horizon's verge, and snowy shrouds 
Hung beautiful over the mountain's brow. 
Wide wrapping all the pride that slept below ; 



32 



LXXXV. 

The rest of Nature 1 — lo ! — the warriour Sun, 

With bright hair'd steeds, swift trampling o'er the heaven, 

Drives on through orient depths, his Chariot throne ! — 

Quick flash the sparks from heaven's red pavomnnt driven ! 

With banner'd pomp, and trumpet's pealing cry, 

Spear, shield and helm of light, in glorious panoply I — 

LXXXVI. 

The widow'd trees, arc thick with diamond stars 
And gems of lustrous brilliance ; rainbow hues 
Changing and flashing, through the chrystal spars, 
In dazzling splendour, which around diffuse 
The pageantry's of magic ! — all are there — 
Enchantments, work'd by spirits of the air. — 

LXXXVII. 

And far away, the blue smoke, slowly curling 

From coitigc roofs; and loose white sails in motion; — 

Beacons along the lone coast, flags unfurling, 

W^aving o'er castled walls ; — the deep blue ocean 

Dark rolling now, as in its earliest hour; 

Eternal in the strength, of its almighty power ! — 



33 



LXXXVIII. 

Such scenes are fraught with wisdom ; and they fill 

The meditative mind with thoughts subUme ! — 

What tho', no rural sounds awake the hill ? 

The reaper's blithe song hush'd a little time ! 

What though the winter winds rave hoarse and high, 

And blighted all the bloom, which brighten'd o'er the eye ?- 

LXXXIX. 

Yet there are lessons taught, in such an hour, 
Of high morality, our souls to mend, — 
Teaching the best, by a mysterious power ! — 
The Winter of Man's being ! — who shall lend 
Spring, Summer, Autumn to his age again. — 
If rightly conn'd, we need not ask in vain. 



XC. 



Such was this Winter's morning — and the stage sleigh, {!) 

First. made a halt, where Sukey's dwelling stood ! — 

I hope no one has any thing to say 

'Gainst this conveyance— be it understood 

That in my time, I've often travoli'd so. 

And found it more convenient — cheaper too 1 — 



34 



XCI. 



'Tis, but a moment, and the parting's over, 

Shed is the tear, the last warm grasp is given ; 

The throbing pulse is still ;— and thoughts which hover, 

In darkness o'er the soul, — like clouds of even', 

Pass quick away, — the trembling bosom's swell 

Is silent now, and mute the sad farewell ! — 

XCII. 

'Tis but a moment, and the Driver's ready; 

His coat is button'd with a knowing look ; — 

The reins adjusted now, right slow and steady ; — 

Cracks the loud whip, and ratling bells are shook; — 

Quick with a spring, he gains his cushion'd seat, 

And swift tlie snorting steeds, go rushing down the street !- 

XCIII. 



* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 



35 



XCIV. 

Is there a spot, more dearly lov'd than all, 
More than all others, which this world can give 1 — 
Where flowers, forever bloom, and pleasures call ! 
For which we dare to die, and love to live ? 
Where center all the joys, our lives have seen ? — 
Where days are always bright, and nights serene ? 

xcv. 

Is there a spot, to which the exile turns, 

When wandering lonely on a distant shore ? 

The while, his struggling heart within him burns. 

Longing to visit its fair scenes once more ! 

Where pure ones dwell, who love his memory yet. 

Far o'er the dark blue sea, he never can forget ? 

XCVI. 

Is there a spot, wlierc we would ever be, 
From cradled childhood to declining age ? 
Where noble Minds exult, and souls are free, 
Glorious in light; where dwell the brave and sage ? 
The beautiful and bright, where'er we roam ? 

There is, there is our Country and our home I — 

5 



36 



XCVII. 

My Country, oh ! my Country, to the last, 
The First and Last; — tho' torn in heart. — alone ! — 
Thou art my dream ! — but clouds have overpast ! — 
In all the changeful scenes, which 1 have known, 
I hold to Thee, and kneel before thy throne, 
Majestic in thy strength, Thou Great Imperial One !- 

XCVIII. 

Homeless ! — Thou art my Mother ! — to the end ! — 

A wanderer — exile ! — Thou wilt ever be 

What Thou hast ever been, proud hearts shall send 

From thy far lands, the omnipotent and free ; 

A greeting to thy child ; for he is thine ! — 

Oh God of Light, make it thine altar-shrinc ! — 

XCIX. 

And Thou wilt not forsake me, this 1 know ! — 

Long years — and I revisit thee again ! — 

I never ask'd a tear in all my wo ! — 

Oh ! Earth of my Idolatry ! in vain, 

Would I uplift my heart, and pray Thee to forget !— 

Home of my Sires— thou art my heritance yet!— 



37 



But what's this to the purpose — I can't see, 

Some one may say— perhaps an idle thought, 

It came across my brain— so let it be ! 

I think the stanzas handsomely are wrought ; 

And some there are, whose feelings may be touch'd 

If they have souls to feel — with what I have avouch'd ! 



CI. 



'Twas at an evening «rty, at the mansion 

Where Sukey stayed — as is the custom, given 

On her account — with liberal expansion, 

She met some pretty girls — just twice eleven, 

I Hke to be exact — eyeing this new comer, 

With looks unceasing ! — did her dress become her ?- 



CII. 



It was a white sprigg'd muslin !— and a ribbon 
Of sky blue color, bound her taper waist ; — 
She never look'd so handsome ! and even Gibbon, 
Would then have prais'd her very pretty taste ; 
Aye ! had he seen her wave her spangled fan, 
In presence of his love, sweet Susan of Lausanne ! 



88 



cm. 

This Gibbon was an infidel ; he loved ! — 

And rosy wreaths were twin'd around his heart; — 

Pure and eternal as this passion proved, 

It could not break those principles apart, 

Which lortn'd his whole existence !~there in vain 

The tempter came — but could not burst the chain ! — 

CIV. 

Such is man's destiny, traced out by Heaven ! 

And who shall mar it in t-liis breathing scene ! — 

Enough ! thou creature of the dust! is given 

To make thee wise, and teach thee how to glean 

The field of human hopes — however small — 

If CuRCHOD had been true — where would have been De Stahl? 



CV. 



Oh ! Love ! — and yet we never, ne'er can know, 

Thy spiritual essence ; — we are content 

To creep along, and in our beings flow, 

To make thee like a sea ; — thou art not spent — 

Within the inmost parts of our mind's vision, 

We cling to thee as yet, pure, bright, elysian ! — < 



39 



CVI. 

And yet, — let but this being sleep in hope, 

All tirat we know, we never would redeem ! — 

We do not ask it — if it still must cope 

With our most earnest longings ; — Shall the beam 

With this existence fade ? — and thus faintly pass, 

Like dreams of spectres in a magic glass ? — 

CVII. 

And is this all, dread dreamer, when life's o'er? — 
Dim star-light of a night, when clouds are dark? — 
The lonely flow of waves, without a shore ? — 
No heaven of blue, with its all-glorious spark, 
To light its mysteries forth, cheering the gloom 
Of this dark vale, brightning beyond the tomb ! — 

CVIIL 

Gh yes ! my soul ! there is, a sabbath home, 

For thee, hereafter, an invisible dwelling! 

Of spirits pure, who never doubt their doom ; — 

Exulting ! thou shalt claim it, brightly swelUng 

In that immortal and unwithering bloom ! 

Sceptred, and winged, and crowned — the eternal throne assume i 



40 



CIX. 



Well, our SuKEY, passed that bright reviewing ! 

Return'd the eye stare in a modest way ! 

Taking all opportunities of showing 

Her better qualities of heart ! in play 

Of coquetry — like April sunbearas shining 

Through hovering clouds of mist, on woody hills reclining !- 

ex. 

But I shall have occasion very soon, 

Of saying something more about these maidens ! — 

My watch informs me 'tis the hour of noon ! 

And I'm obliged to read a poem of Levden's, (8) 

Before I dine — but first a verse I'll write, 

To shew some characters in proper light ! — 

CXI. 

Muse ! — shall I tell their names ! the first is Mary, 
A laughing, lively girl, with eyes of grey, 
Her form is of the royal stamp, (but wary 
Let me be) gay — ^jocund, as month of May f 
A heart, soft, frank, and generous, with a soul 
That never fears, and ne'er will brook controul ! — 



41 



CXII. 



Florence, is fair and gentle, but inclined 

Too much to ope her feelings to a crowd, — 

A soul all tenderness, and taste retin'd, 

With judgment, just enough, and sweetly proud; — 

No one, would call her beautiful, but grace 

Is in her mien, and sunshine in her face. — 

CXIII. 

And Ida too, who now is far away, 

The young and deUcate, whose harp can wake 

The spirit dreamings of a brighter day, 

Her syren voice of melody would make 

The blood of Eld, quicken with Uvelier flow; 

And melt from frozen hearts, a generous tear for wo ! — 

CXIV. 

And Angela, with down-cast look of love, 

The enthusiast of romance ! — with pallid cheek, 

And forehead wan, where strange thoughts seem to move 

Yet is she woman all, fond, kind, and meek, 

That you must love her, tho' you hate romance ; 

And grant, that soul beams forth in every tearful glance. 



42 



cxv. 

Oh ! who shall e'er forget Elizabeth ! 
With heart as pure, as diamond waters tlovr ! 
Modest, as lily flower, o'er which the breath, 
Of summer winds, ne'er pass'd, lone hid below 
In garland woven caves, where Love is sleeping ! 
And unsunned fountains in their stillness weeping ! — 

CXVI. 

But too retiring, and of feelings cold. 

Like that chaste virgin of the crescent crown ! — 

Yet, have I seen her, when a tale was told. 

Dash pity's tear, stealing her cheek adown. 

And brighten in her beauty — and the swell 

Of her full soul, shine out, most eloquently well I — 

CXVII. 

Okk more ; yes, 'tis a shape of loveliness 1 
Of earth, and yet of heaven, that matchless shines !- 
Like that, the angel wears, who comes to bless, 
The loved in life and death, whose faith resigns, 
AH fears, and joys, and dreams, of mortal time, 
Then soars on plumes of light, in majesty sublime !- 



43 



CXVIII. 

Oh ye'!, of heaven and earth too surely made ! — 

Why is it o''3r the sua, black clouds will sweep ? — 

Why do th'?' ros3S of the garden fads ? — 

Why swell tha storm waves, o'er the moonlight deep ?- 

And why art thou, all lovely as thou art, 

Doomed still to try, the mockeries of the heart? — 

CXIX. 

I know not why, nor is it mine to know ; — 

Ail are but dreamings of existence here ! 

Bringing too much of happiness or wo ! — 

Withering the plants, springing and blooming fair I — 

Shedding around i flame of dazzling Eight, 

Like meteors flashing o'er the dungeon's night! — 

cxx. 

But none, can know th?e, who will love thee not ! — 
Feeling, and taste, and genius, all are thine ! — 
And friendship tells a tale — that ne'er forgot. 
Will hover o'er the Future, like the sign 
That hung o'er Israel's march, cheering the way ! 
A phantom vision ! — never to fade away ! — 

6 



44 



CXXI. 



CXXII. 

My dinner was but poor to-day, and cooked 
Most wretchedly — some have no compassion, 
For us lean men ! — I'm sure they never looked 
(I mean the cooks) into that Glass of fashion ; — 
The book wherein — they're counselled to take heed, 
"First catch a Turbot, then you thus proceed" — 

CXXIII. 

The why and wherefore, I could never learn ! — 

But there are things I lik-e — a haunch of Venison ! 

Geese ! Salmon ! Brants ! new butter from the churn ! 

And fresh laid Eggs ! — and when I see the hens on 

Their straw built nests — 1 always scare them off — 

For eggs, are daintiest, new — tho' squeamish persons scoflf ! (9) 



45 



CXXIV. 

I've dined at great men's tables, and I would, 

So heaven help me, dine there, every day ; 

I like their hquors, often they are good ; — 

Strange things are often told — but 'tis my way. 

Ne'er to dispute the master of the feast, 

E'en though his Wines are sour, his Porter, yeast !— (10) 

cxxv. 

And I can bear ray bottle, and more could, 
Under my belt, nor feel my brain the lighter; 
Clarefs my favorite, though Madeira's good — 
Champaigne is well enough, to make wits brighter, 
Yet could I have my choice, as the best sort, 
To make men merry — I should choose Old Port. 

CXXVI. 

Not long ago, (by way of episode) — 

A party were invited out to dine. 

By some one of our friends — who often showed 

He had a cultivated taste for wine ; — 

He promised them that day — to give his best, 

All were delighted, and their joy confest !— ■ 



CXXVII. 

They met — dined — dessert prepared — C— looked wise, 
And now, much more important far, than ever, — 
"Here, John, go fill me from the bin I prize, 
In the small arch, under the front room cellar, 
These wine decanters — and be very careful, 
Bin, number t.vo, — why do you stare, you fool! — 

CXXVIII. 

Vanish, begone !" — John slowly shook his head, 

Looked slringe., and knit his brows— and straight departed j- 

"Now — this wine, Gentlemen, as J have said, 

Has cross'd the Atlantic — thrice — was started 

Som'> fifteen years ago -I beg you'll mark, 

First from the cargo — of our ship, the Lark ; 

cxxix. 

I donU pretend to say — there's none — like mine, 
A host, you know, should never boast — and you" — 
"Well, John, — aye ! this looks something like the wine — 
You took it from the Bin — mark'd number two? 
Where did you get it from?'' — he smiling cries. 
And winks the servant — with lack-lustre eyes ! 



47 



cxxx. 

"Where did I get it," and John turn'd away — 
"Why. from the cellar, sir," — -'and pray what bin ? 
You anderstand — from number two, you say ?" — 
"No — from the demijohn — sent home to-day, 
From Stackpole'' store — ! hope I've dorse no sin- 
But as lor Number Two — I couldn't find that Bin ! — 

CXXXI. 

But once more to return, Tin always straying, 
From my sweet Sukey, and the evening party ! — 
When all was over, and each done surveying'. 
They all appear'd to be, more frank and hearty, 
Mute was the tongue of Envy, and the eye 
Of Jealousy was veiled, and Love stood smiling hy ! — 

CXXXII. 

Ring after ring, quick at the front door peal'd ; — 

More visitors announced , — the rooms were throng'd, 

Blithely and briefly, and around revealed, 

A galaxy of beauty ! — eyes have long'd 

To see such sights — so wonderfully sheen, 

AU loveliness and bloom, but yet have never seen ! 



48 



CXXXIII. 

Soon might be heard, light whisperings and the voices 
Of happy human creatures, in their mirth ! — 
Oh ! who will ask— il' most that soul rejoices, 
Whose face is constant flashing with the birth 
Of roseHp smiles — if there no darkness hovers ? — 
And happiness within the only garb that covers ? — 

CXXXIV. 

If wise, forbear — such hours must pass away ! — 
And midnight, morning, comes — alas ! too soon ! — 
Why lift the festal mask, when all is gay ? — 
Lights,^ music, laughter, ail will soon be gone ! — 
Why coldly blight Life's little pleasures now. 
Or ask, if that be joy which sparkles o'er the brow ?— 

cxxxv. 

Match me, ye belles, one dancer like that girl ? 
She of the bright blue eye — now gently bending, 
In graceful elegance — now in the whirl. 
Of Fancy's maze — her white long arm extending, 
To meet her stupid partner's ungloved fingers, 
Her busy feet quick glancing 1 — mark! she lingers, 



CXXXVL 

That he may overtake her — fearful creeping 
Like some dull truant, who expects a whipping, 
Or hke a dormouse after six months sleeping, 
Or cautious Pantaloon — afraid of slipping 
Down a smooth icy hill ! — this for aught I know, 
May be all right ; — but twenty years ago, 

CXXXVII. 

When I was young — such things have strangely changed, 

The (lancers then, some show of spirit had, 

When light along the floor they nimbly ranged 

In sprightly wheelings ! — now, they seem as sad 

As soldiers marching, when a death drum beats, 

Or mourners in black weeds, who go about the streets! — 

CXXXVIII. 

But now, the dance is ended — and the trays 

Come furnished in, with sweetmeats, creams, and fruits, 

And hands and mouths are busy ; — long dela3's 

Are dangerous now — and ill the occasion suits 

Those who have come half famish'd here to eat ! — 

He only is the wise, who ne'er expects a treat ! — 



00 



CXXXIX. 

How sly that tall boy looks — as any cat !— 

Aye — he has filched a cream cake from the board. 

An enterprise of skill ! — That man of fat, 

The Faistaff of the crowd, has arot his hoard 

Of niii< and raisins, — each for number one ; — 

The conduct of the world for ages past and gone ! — 

CXL. 

"Sir, shall I trouble you to hand a custard'' 

"Why, Mr. K — I can't see one as yet," 

"You've spoilt my new coat — with that c — d mustard, — 

Pray be more careful" — '"Tis useless, Sir, to fret" — 

"Miss L— will take an orange "—"Will she ? ah! 

Go round the other side — they're better, far !" 

CXLI. 

"Why, where are all the knives ? — dear C — lend 

Me yours, to cut this ham — your charming wife." 

" 'Twould give me pleasure, but you know my friend, 

I have as yet ate nothing." — "oh ! that knife. 

You've run it through ray hand." — "Sir, no matter!" — 

"Sir, let me tell you." — ''don't keep such a chatter !" 



51 



CXLII. 

And Beauty holds but small advantag^e here, 
The age of gallantry is gone — and gone 
Those courtesies of life, that make life dear ; — 
Where are the gentle hearts to give the tone 
To manners as they should be, and to show, 
What bright examples, from politeness tlow ! — 

CXLIII. 

Yea, 'tis a shame, that those whose rank is high, 
Who sweep along with fashion's sceptred power; 
Should be so cold and mean, in vain they try 
The semblance of good breeding, or its power, — 
When every word, look, action, proves their soul 
Is wrapp'd in self alone. 

CXLIV. 

Go when you will, you see them every where. 

These monkies of Monboddo, without tails, 

With shape indeed of men, but minds as bare 

Of sense, as is a new shorn chin, these snails 

And worms of earth, blighting the ground they crawl 

Seem made but for themselves, this earth their all in all. 



5S 



CXLV. 



Now in a knot the literati there, 
Are bolding high discourse, for each to scan, 
Sententious paragraphs and maxims rare ? — 
"What, not read his Lordship''s last Don Juan?'' — 
"Pray Miss, what think you of the last Review?" — 
"Somethings were good ; but nothing very new" — 

CXLVI. 

"Why S — I am astonished ! not seen him yet? — . 
But you xvill be delighted with our Kean ! — 
Let critics talk about his tricks, and fret, 
And tell of things which are, and long have been ! 
He moves alono, flashing in peerless light, 
Sweeping a burning track, the comet of a night." 

CXLVII. 

It comes at last ! the vision pomps sublime ! 
All that we dreamt of in our earliest hours! 
Instinct with life from a mysterious clime ! — 
Mntchless Magician of majestic powers ! 
The Prophet of the Past ! — we now behold, 
Thou of the purple robe, and diadem of gold ! (11) 



53 



CXLVIII. 

The essential inspiration, that could make 

The glorious immortalities of mind ! 

From thine forth springing — bright forms, uncreate 

Of clay — and yet as palpably combined 

With our own kind, as though each vvalk'd the earth, 

And held like human things, the boon of common birth ! 

CXLIX. 

Like to the monarch mountain pine outflinging, 
Its thousand vvarriour arms when storms are gone ! — 
Like to the Eagle bird subhmely winging 
Through azure depths — engirdled with a zone 
Of earth consuming fires — dread, fearless, lone, 
Hovering in glory round the Thunderer's throne ! — 



CL. 



Like to the mighty rock supremely swelling, 

With sun gilt crest, above the rolling sea ! 

In that eternity of waves — proud dwelling 

Unscathed, in its own grand immensity ! 

When thunder clouds are sweeping by in terror, 

Or when the ocean shines a chrystal moonhght mirror 



5^ 



CLI. 



Imperial Shakspeare ! — was thy bosom torn, 

When thou wert wrapt in extacy divine ? 

How did thy heart exult, when high upborne, 

By seraph shapes — bowing' before God's shrine ? — 

Or when the world of dreams rolled o'er thy sight ? — 

Wert thou not phrenzied, when the o'erwhelming light 

CLII. 

Poured like a cataract down ? — Sovereign power ! 

Was not thy vision blasted — quenched in night ? 

Fire, Promethean, stealing ? — no human dower 

Was thine ! — Time wings his wearied, ceaseless flight, 

Till the sun sets in blood ! — but earth no more. 

Shall look on One like Thee ! — that hope is past and o'er ! 

CLIII. 

We have beheld ! and trembled ! — but 'tis gone ! 

All burst to sight, then vanished from the eye, 

Like thronging hosts of angels — when are blown 

The silver trumps of morning minstrelsy ! 

Waving aloft their star gemin'd banners fold. 

Soaring on rainbow wings, with radiant crowns of gold ! 



55 



CUV. 



"He will return to France, and live alone, 

To meditate and write.'' — "Pray where's his wife, 

They say the daughter of that lonely one, 

Is like her Father."— "Really, take her life !"— 

"Then you do think that Walter Scott has written 

Those famous novels ?"— "I thought his heart was smitten." 

CLV. 

"No I can't say so — the Black Dwarf is mine." — 

"Yes, he is very handsome." — "Who is Morris." — 

"A worthy fellow, loving his lass and wine 1" — 

"But Campbell, Rogers, Wordsworth."— "Mr. Norris 

Will you oblige me." — "That 1 may safely grant. 

He has the wealth of kings — poor Otway died of want." — 

CLVI. 

"But Byron stands upon the pinnacle 

Of earthquakes shatter'd." — "Lord, it may be soon." 

"When tempest spirits ride." — "Well Sir, the binnacle !" — 

"And couch their meteor spears." — "My task is done, 

My theme into an echo — it is fit — " 

"Is it not beautiful ?" — "Moore ?" — "protracted, writ is writ."- 



56 



CLVII. 

Hark ! there's a tumult in the hall below ! — 

Louder it grows - the ladies are aflfrighted, 

And all stand wondering — and their faces show, 

That carmine tints are very often blighted 

By linen handkerchiefs, as well as fear ! — 

And now an Afric's form is seen — what does he here ?- 

CLVIII. 

His tale is quickly told ! — He came to bear 

A letter from his master to the lady 

Who was the mistress of the mansion there, 

That stated in few words — ''That one already. 

Known as a friend of old — would wait upon her, 

Tf she, being disengaged, would grant that honor ; 

CLIX. 

Having just landed from a brigantine. 

Taken in tight, that evening, in the bay, 

After a desperate conflict ; and in fine. 

The morning sun would see him on his way. 

For friends he loved — but first he wished to see. 

The patron of his youth — whom he loved tenderly I" 



57 



CLX. 

Such were the words, I think that letter put in : 

The story of the Afric more complete; 

He said it was the hour when dajhght shut in, 

And g'rey-plumed twihght comes — far from the fleet, 

A stranger sail bore down — and hoisted high, 

Her blood red banner o'er the evening sky ! 

CLXI. 

Then came the farewell greetings of brave men. 
Who ne'er might meet upon the deck again I — 
Then all was hushed and silent — saving when 
The boatswain's whistle shrilly sung! — in vain 
We looked for safety, and a fearful chillness 
Crept o'er the heart ! — when suddenly, that stillness 

CLXII. 

Was broken up ! — a cannon shot came booming, 
O'er the long waves ! — it sunk betore our prow; 
They gain upon us, the darkening seas illuming 
With flaky Hght — ranging beside us now. 
Their ground tier opes its black artillery 
In thunderings and flames — quick and incessantly. 



CLXIII. 

The guns rolled forth over the heaving water, 

And in that smokey canopy — they tried, 

And grappled with our own good ship ! — the slaughter 

Cry was heard — and many a brave one died ! — 

Sabres dripped drunk with gore ! and muskets pealing, 

Mingled their dreadful echoing with the yelUng 

CLXIV. 

Of Paynims, as they dropped down by the side 

Of the dark ships ! — our bloody deck was gained ! 

Rushed on the renegadoes — the war tide 

Swelled high I — then sunk ! — in vain we might have strained, 

Our heart strings in the struggle, had not He, 

That saviour youth, been there, to give us victory ! 

CLXV. 

Where thickest raged the fight — he fought alone ! — 
Quick swept his blade, most terrible in death. 
Crimsoned with gore, a bloody meteor shone ! — 
With every blow — a shriek of parting breath ! — 
With every flashing stroke — a life was gone ! — 
They fell around him, as the ripened corn 



dd 



CLXVI. 

Before the reaper's sickle ! — his battle cry 

E'ea the half dy:a^ heard —and rose to listen, 

To catch the welcome soiand — and then to die. — 

Tliat sword of powor! e'en now, I see it glisten 

Ami 1 the snlp'teroi-! ifloom, with awful quivering', 

The black clouds of the storm — lik® lightning shivering ! 

CLXVII. 

It was a fearful hour ! — The Pirate Chief 

Swept on — his tiger eyeballs burning start ! — 

Their cuiiis'- blades w'airied (ire ! — oh ! fierce and brief, 

That coiidict dread — the steel has scorched his heart !■ — 

H'.^, filU — flasheil o'er his brow, hell's lurid tires! — 

The God of CaivisxiANS, curses — and expires ! — 

CLXVIII- 

CLXIX. 

The Stranger Youth is come — who won the fight! — 

In all thut crowd, alone whom sees he tiien ? — 
8 



60 



Whose eyes are weeping — when before her sight, 
She sees the Loved of infancy — again ! — 
He, the enthusiast — that romantic boy ! 
He, that my Sukev loves ! 

CLXX. 

But why protract the tale ? — In idle hour 
I seized my Harp — but now its strings are riven ! 
Its music thrills not o'er my soul in power, 
As once it chimed, to holy echoings given ! 
It was my pride when earthly joys were gone. 
And I could feel myself not quite alone ! — 

CLXXI. 

Farewell to Thee awhile ! — there is a feeling 
Of wildering darkness now, that mocks at rhyme I — 
There was a time, when o'er the bosom stealing, 
Far other hones were mine !— There was a time 
The memories of years, too mournful tell ! — 
There was a time, when thy full hallowed swell 

Was like Religion ! — Say, are these visions past ?- 
I know not now, but rest, as if this were my last !- 



KFC^liS, 



N T E S. 



NOTE 1. 



-such as Francis, 



That Prince of gallantry — / now allude 
Tu him of Gaul''' 

Francis I King of France. He was successor of f>owis Xil. He flour- 
ished from 1515 to 1547, vviieii he died at Riinjboulhet. 'lis life was distin- 
guished by many eventful vicissitudes. The faiiious battle of .Marignan, 
fought against tiie Swiss, and his military expeditions in .Navarre, have luade 
him illustrious as a warrior. It is well remembered, that the treaty of .\oyon, 
(the eternal treaty of peace,) lasted indeed only two days, that was made 
between him and Charles V. Soon afler the siege and victory of I'avia, he 
■was taken prisoner in a treniendoiis charge, whioh i^ is said he headed in per- 
son, and on this occasion, wrote the letter to his mother, which is reported to 
be extant ; and in which he says — "That he had lost his all in tlie world — ex- 
cept his honor." Several truces and leagues were made and as suddenly brok- 
en up between the rival sovereign^ — but the assistance which his distinguish- 
ed enemy received from Henry VIII. of England gave in the upshot of their 
long and hateful national struggles, a decidedly unquestionable advantage to 
the allied sovereignties. Peace was concluded with Germany in 1544 and in 
1546-7 with England. 

Francis was the Patron of letters, and one of the mc^t accomplished prin- 
ces and courtly gentlemen that ever sat upon a throne. The splendid re- 
flections which Dr. Robertson has given upon his character and his rivaiship 
with Charles V. is altogether unequalled in the annals of fine histoii;;al writing- 
There is not a man of letters who should not be as familiar with it, as with his 
alphabet. Francis was indeed one of the extraonlinary of the earth. — 
"iN'otwithstandiug the many errors conspicuous in his foreign policy and do- 
mestic administration, he was, nevertheless humane, bi-neticeiit i-nd generous. 
.He possessed dignity without pride ; alfaUility free from meai.ness, and t ourt- 
esy exempt from deceit. Ail who had access to him (and no man of meri* 



61 



was ever denied that privilege) respected and loved him. Captivated with 
his personal qualities, his subjects forgot his defects as a monarch, and admir- 
ing him as the most accomplished gentleman in his dominions ; they never 
murmured at act? of mal-administration, which in a Prince of less engaging- 
disposition would have been deemed unpardonable. Science, in his time, and 
the Arts made little progress in France. They were just beginning to advance 
beyond the limits of Italy, M'here they had revived, and which had hitherto 
been their only seat. Francis, took them immediately under his protection 
and vied with Leo himself, in the zeal and munificence with which he en- 
couraged them. He invited learned men to his Court ; he conversed with 
them familiarly ; he employed them in business ; he raised them to offices of 
dignity, and honored them with his confidence. That race of men, not more 
prone to complain when denied the respect to which they fancy themselves 
entitled, than apt to be pleased when treated with the distinction which 
they consider as their due, though they could not t\ccei\ in gratitude to such a 
benefactor, strained tlieir invention and employed all their ingenuity in 
panegyric. The appellation of Father of Letters, bestowed uj)on Francis hath 
rendered his meuiory sacred among historians, and they seemed to have re- 
garded it as a sort of impiety to uncover his infirmities, or to point out his 
defects." 

Such is the language of eulogy in whjch Robertson writes, and never was 
the language of eulogy, more like truth. Other later historians have adopted 
very dissimilar sentiments — but their opinions when placed in hostilify to 
those which 1 have chosen to adopt from the profound and magnificent 
writings, already set forth, seem to me, altogether ill founded and insecure. 



NOTE n. 

"T/iW pastime had its rise — wJien tMrthur wore 
2'ht crvivn of Britian and her red cross shield. — " 

This may be deemed with those who know any thing about the earlier 
history of Britian, an allowable anachronism in invention. The national 
standard of England was originally a white cross, in the time of the crusades, 
while the French was orijlarne., a red cross. When they were beaten by 
Henry V. at the battle of Agincourt, this emblem of tiieir sovereignity was 
lost. Be it, moreover, understood, that a reasonable pretence of subjection, 
induced the English kings to adopt the red cross of France. The Dauphin, 
Charles VIL according to some historical facts set down in some work that 
I have met with, changed tlie ensign to a white cross, that being intended 
to represent the national colour ; his own ensign was white, and it has ever 
since been distinguished b}' the name of la cornette blanche. 



65 



I neeil say nothing here of Arthur, his Knii;hts and Round Ttible : Dun- 
lop, in his History of Fiction, has been sufficiently prolix on this subject ; and 
the old English Chronicles and Romance?!, abound with stories of him and 
his Court. The elesant poet, Warton, has written a sonnet on king Arthur's 
Round Table, which, I shall here transcribe, as it is not generally to be met 
■with. 

Where Venta's Norman castle still uprears 

Its raftered hall, that o'er the grassy foss. 

And scattered flinty fragrants, clad in moss 

On yonder steep in naked state appears ; 

High hung remains, tlie pride of warlike years, 

Old Arthur''s Board : on the capacious round 

Some British pen has sketched the names renowned 

In masks obscure, of his immortal peers. 

Tho' joined by magic skill M'ith many a rhyme 

The Druitl frame unhonored falls a prey 

To the slow vengeance of the wizard I'ime, 

And fade the British characters away — 

Yet Spencer's page, that chc-unts in verse sublime, 

Those chiefs, shall live unconcious of decay. — 



NOTE III. 

^'■Froni a fine poem inscribed to Lady Fanny Fielding.'''' 

This poem may be found at lengdi in Ihe well judged and selected Ex- 
tracts made by that eruaite scholar, Vicesimus Knox. 

NOTE IV. 

'■'•Think of a model such as great Can&ra.'" 

Canova and Chauntrey are the greatest sculjjtors in the world. Lord By- 
ron thus praises the former. 

Italy ! 

Time which hath wronged thee with ten thousand rents 

Of thine imperial garment, shall deny 

And hath denied, to every other sky 

Spirits which soar from ruin ; — thy decay 

Is still impregnate with divinity 

Which guilds it with revivifying ray ; 

Such as the great of yore, Canova is to day I Canto 4, Harold- 



66 



The very comparison of this noble ."tanza, with Warton's Sonnet in Note 2, 
induces ine, once for ali,to say somethiriT; concerning; the Plagiarisms of By- 
ron. It is merely a matter of curious lilerary speculation, and nothing more. 
Our judgrjii^nt, concerning the matter, rests simply here. His Lordship, knew 
that he was stealing from others, and that every body else knew i^, or that, 
havin? worked up a new garment from the old — he was so well pleased with 
it, that he was determined to make it his own, without thanks or without 
apology. The first example which occurs to m}' mind — is that of the Eagle 
in the the English Bards. 

"So the struck eagle stretched tipon the plain, 
No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart 
And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart ! 
Keen were his pangs — but keener far to feel 
He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel !" 

But what says Waller, 

That eagle's fate and mine are one — 
AV ho on the shaft that saw liim die. 
Espied a feather of his own 
Wherewith he wont to soar so high ! — 

In the Poem of the Siege of Corinth, when Alp meets with the former lady 
of his love — all that fine passage, commencing with — 

There is a light cloud by the moon, 

Tis passing and will pass full soon — 
by his Lordship's own acknowledgment, is taken from Vathek,& work by the 
way, which we do not admire quite so much as he does, and which to us ap- 
pears siugularly tawdry in its afltctations of the sublime, either in prose or 
poetry ---and the other still more admired passage in the same poem — 

Once she raised her hand on high, 

It was so wan and transparent of hue 

Yon might have seen the moon shine through. 

is evidently taken from Macpherson's Ossian — where Crugal's Ghost is des- 
cribed as having 

Stars dim twinkling through his form, &c. 



In Parasina- 



And still, and pale and silrntlj 
Did Parasina wait her doom ; 



67 



How changed since last her speakinsj e je 

Glanc'd gladness round the gii<t»ring room, 

Where high-born men were proud to wait — 

Where Beauty watch'd to imitate 

Her gentle voice — her lov'ely mein — 

And gather from her air and gait 

The graces of its queen t 

Then had her eye in sorrow wept 

A thousand warriors forth had leapt, 

A thousand swords had sheathless shone, 

And made her quarrel all their own ! — 



All who remember — and who does not — Burkes famous passage of 
"It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France,thcn 
the dauphiness at Versailles, and surely never lighted on this orb, which she 
hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her rising above the 
horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move 
in — glittering like the morning-star, full of life, and splendour, and joy. Oh ! 
what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, to contemplate without 
emotion, that elevation and that fall ! little did I dream when she added ti- 
tles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant respectful love, that she 
carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; little 
did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in 
a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers. I 
thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to a- 
venge even a look that threatened her with insult — but the age of chivalry is 
gone,'' — will trace the resemblance. 



The whole of the magnificent apostrophe to the Ocean in Childe Harold,is 
but a versification of Keate's sublime Address to the Ocean in his Sketches. 

I open the first page in this last named production of the Noble Bard, and 
I read, 

I saw from out the waves her structures rise, 
As by the stroke of an enchanter's wand — 
But that mighty witch of romance, Mrs. Radcliffe, has said before, in the 
Mysteries of Udolpho, that — "•Venice rises from the bosom of the ocean — as 
if touched by the stroke of an enchanter's wand." 

And again, compare her description of an Italian sunset, with his XXVII. 
stanza in the same work, and see how much his poetry differs from her prose 

9 



68 



What is the difference between Tacitus' 

"Solitudinem faoiuut, pacem appellant," 
and Selim's words, in the Bride of Abydos, 

"He makes a solitude, and calls it peace." 



There are many other examples, that I might produce, particularly, from 
the works of Wordsworth, Moore, Coleridge, Croly, and Campbell, but it is 
time to forbear. I do not wish even to appear hypercritical. I grant without 
reserve — that many of his Lordship's resemblances and pilferings are inten- 
tional, and others accidental. I think Lord Byron, the first Poet of the age, 
but, at the same same time, I know his faults, and knowing them, will fear- 
lessly and unhesitatingly declare them. 



NOTE V. 

'■''JVtth Shenstowe's matron — that the green birch rod.^'' 

The School Mistress of Shenstone is a well known and well written poem. 
How many delightful associations spring up in our minds when we remember 
that romantic spot of the Pastoral Poets Solitude. The Leasowes, are as 
hallowed as the mysterious retreats of Vaucluse. There are yet his winding 
walks snd ivied wall?, his favorite trees and groves, and all the tasteful mon- 
uments of his fine fancy and exquisite genius. The inscription upon one of 
them, in memory of her he loved, is cherished in the memories of all. 

Htu .' quanta minus est cum rcliquis versari quam tui meminisse. 

In a httle poem which I published in the Daily Advertiser, a little while 
ago, with this motto affixed to it, and which I shall print again here, doing it, 
however, not so much to gratify particularly any faelings of personal vanity, 
or that it may now stand u chance of claiming something of a more enduring 
and ambitious character, by being introduced here but simply and honestly 
because that poem has become doubly valuable to me, from certain circum- 
stances of a nature peculiarly and tenderly mournful, which have occurred, 
since the hour dedicated to its composition ; may be found three or f»ur ex- 
amples of what I believe to be intimately connected or perhaps even intrin- 
sically forming, what is simply pathetic and elegant in poetry ; and which I 
have endeavoured to maintain, (with what success the reader must judge,) 
whenever an opportunity has presented itself in the Poem of Sukey, 



69 

WHERE IS HE ? 

'■''fJeu ! quanio minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui m,eminisse.''^ 

His way was on the water''s deep, 
For lands, far distant and unknown 1 — 
His heart could feel — his eye could weep — 
For sufferings other than his own ; 
And he could seem what others be, 
Yet only seem — but where is He ? 

I wander through this grove of love, 
The valley lone — and climb the hill, 
"Where he was wont in life to rove, — 
And all looks calm and pleasant still ! — 
And there, his bower and cypress tree, 
That tree of gloom ! but where is He ? 

The sun above shines now as bright 

Through Heaven''s blue depths— as once it shone ; 

The clouds roll beautiful in light. 

Sweeping around the EternaPs throne I 

The singing birds are full of glee. 

Their songs as sweet — but where is He ? 

The mirror of the moon on high. 

That bright lake, seems as soft!}' calm ; — 

The stars as richly throng the sky ; — 

The night winds breathe their fragrant balm ; 

Rolls on as bright that deep blue sea 

Its mighty waves — but where is He ? 

Here is the wreath he twined — but now 
This rosy wreath is twined in vain ! 
Tears, nor the bosom's warmest glow, 
Will ever give it life again ! — 
All this is dark and strange to me. 
Yet still, I ask— but where is He ? 

I touch his Harp — the magic strings. 

The loveliest sounds of music pour! 

But sadly wild — as if the wings 

Of Death's dark Angel — swept them o'er ! 

The chords are lulled ! — It may not be ! 

And spirits whisper — where is He ? 

His way was on the Avater's deep !— 

His corse — is on an unknown shore ! 

He sleeps — a long and wakeless sleep — 
And we shall see his face no more ! 
'Tis a sad tale ! he died for me ! 
Oh ! God: enough '—but where is He ? 



70 



NOTE VI. 



•She of the Shoe, 



Cursed wit:t her progtny .' and i?e, the sleeper, Blue t 

This may be supposed by many, to satirise the Wordsworth an d Southey 
school of poetry. I confess that they are not altogether incorrect. Notwith- 
standing all the eloquence of the former, his system, as he calls it. of poetry 
will never entirely hold good. There is a great difference between silli- 
ness and simplicity. Things which are altogether mean and contemptible 
can never be made respectable or dignified by the sorcery of poetry ; aiu! we 
should no more expect it there, than in real life. An ideot dressed up in 
kinglike array of purple, and fine linen — is an ideot still. Wordsworlh and 
Southey, however, have suffered not, from the droll satire of Dyron — though 
one can hardly help feeling merry at their expense. His lordship has been 
sufficiently severe upon them both, in his English Bards, and is, perhaps, too 
personal in his new code of commandments, in Don Juan. 

"Thou shalt not sot up — Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, 
Because the first is craz( d beyond all hope, 
The second, drunk — the tliird, so quuint and mouthy ;" Sic. 
The Excursion of Wordsworlh is a noble poem, and will live when many 
others, by this generation reported a.s immortal, will have gone down to their 
oblivion. I wish I could say as much of his Lyrical Ballads, and his last 
work, Peter Bell. Of Southey, I could say a good deal. I have been watching 
his track, ever since his Joan of Arc fell into my hands. It v/ould have been 
well for him to have taken the advice of Mathias, the reputed author of Pur. 
luits of Literature ; The Curse of Kehama, Thalaba, and Roderick the Last 
of the Goths, would then have been equal to his Madoc, which is certainly 
one of the most magnificent Poems in our language. I know of nothing more 
affectionately touching, than IFe are Seven, by AV'ordsworth, and the Battle 
of nienhtijii, bv Southey ; not even excepting, the Exile of Erin, by Camp- 
bell, or The Orphan Boy, by Theiwall, 



NOTE VII. 

'"'•Such icas this Winter''s morning — and the stage sleigh''"' 

This kind of vehicle, the sleigh, is altogether disused, and perhaps by ma- 
ny unknown, in England. It is wonderful with what rapidity journies are 
performed in our Country with it, particularly in the Eastern and Nor- 
thern States, when the snow lies deep over the ground, and hardened 
to an icy firmness by the severity of the cold. It is a convenient convey- 



n 



ance on many accounts, all of which will readily occur to the minds of 
those, who have ever travelled in one. I wish 1 could say as much of the 
couifort and pleasure it aflbrds to the delicate, and feeble in health. On 
our fine clear winter nights, however, when, a glorious firmament of stars 
is burning above, you may see in our pojiulous towns and cities, thousands 
of sleighs of various descriptions, gaily painted, and tastefully decorated, crowd- 
ed with human beings, wrapped in furs and warm clothing, passing with 
the velocity of light along ; and it is this very rapidity of luotion, xnidoubt- 
cdly, in conjiiDclioa with pleasant society, lovers and loved, dancing, music, 
bells, and mulled wine, that goes far to make a quiet, contemplative philo- 
sopher-like man, really in good truth, at times, believe, that the pleas- 
ures of all sleighing parties are infinitely superior to all sufferings, whether 
physical or moral, that one has to undergo from the stern and relentless en- 
counters of bleak frosty winds, and the terrible bitterness of the cold. 



NOTE VIII. 

'"'•And Pm obliged to read a poem of Letden's." 

One of his finest poems, a translation of the famous Portuguese Mariners* 
Hymn, Ave Maria Stella, may be seen in Shoberls partial translation of Cha- 
teaubriand's Beauties of Christianity, (page 523, Notes,) the rest in a collec- 
tion of his works, published sometime in the year 1819. 



NOTE IX. 

^'■For eggs^ are daintiest, new — tho'' squeamish persons scoff! " 

Vide Introduction, 2d Canto of Colman's Lady of the V/r^ch^ 
"The Egg is daintiest when 'tis taken new — 
And love is sweetest in the honey moon." 



NOTE X. 

"IJ'en though his Wines are sou7\ his Porter^ Yeast / " 

Socrates was of opinion, that Wme was the best, that was drunk at the ex- 
pense of another. He is not the only philosopher of quiet, staid, sober habits- 
who embraced the same opinion. 



7S 

NOTE XI. 

'■'•Thou of the purple robe^ and diadem of gold ! " 

This noble line, I am proud to quote from a poem generally ascribed to 
one of the most magnifinent painters and poets in our Country. I allude to 
Washington Allston. His Sylphs of the Seasons, and the Paint King, which 
is quite an extraordinary, daring, and orig;inal production, every one has by 
heart. I cannot speak of this highly gifted geniii« in a manner which I could 
wish. There are too many sweet and delightful memories of past years that 
crowd upon me, and I am afraid I should appear too enthusiastic, and my 
words would sound like the words of adulation ; He could not despise this, 
more than I should, myself. And it is for this very reason, also, that 1 refrain 
now, from saying what I have an earnest longing to say, of Pierpont's Airs of 
Palestine ; and of NeaPs JViagara, Goldau, and Olho. The authors of these 
works, I know. Pierpont has done that which sends his name sparkling down 
forever the stern tide of human time. Neal has given up altogether, the writ- 
ing of poetry. The last poetical production of his pen, was written at my re- 
quest, in my room, the last he will ever write ; and I speak truth when I say, 
that I believe, there is no poem in the whole compass of English poetry, of 
the same length, equally beautiful. As there are but (cw men, so there are 
but few friends like him ; (to use the energetic language of Byron,) so true in 
council, and trusty in peri],so often tried and never found wanting ; certain- 
ly, at least, with three or four exceptions, as it regards myself; — of these, a- 
las : two are dead, and of (he others, I feel this is neither the place, nor the 
time to speak. And I forbear. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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